


Sown and Reaped

by afterandalasia



Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Charlie Swan Feels, Community: twispitefic, F/M, POV Bella Swan, POV Charlie Swan, POV First Person, Parent-Child Relationship, Reapings, Sparklepires, Twilight Spitefic, Victors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In return for the horrors which humans inflicted upon vampires, the Volturi say, they were forced to take over the kingdom of Panem. Every year, in memory of those horrors, the Hunger Games are held -- two young people from each District, made to fight to the death. The winner, however, is granted a great honour: the chance to become a vampire, one of the ruling class. To live forever, wealthy and beautiful.</p><p>Charlie Swan can think of nothing more terrible.</p><p>Bella Swan can think of nothing better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DasMervin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasMervin/gifts).



> Inspired by a comment by DasMervin in one her discussion of Twilight Chapter 23, talking about the Romanians': _"They demanded tributes and more slave labor and more blood from the surrounding lands a la the Capitol of Panem."_
> 
> Sorry, Mervin, but the Volturi worked better as the villains in this set-up.
> 
> Bob Marks and Waylon Forge are minor characters created for the Twilight movies. So they are canon characters, but they're pretty much just faces on the screen.

Reaping Day was always the worst. And you couldn't even say it.  
  
In some ways, the reaping itself wasn't actually the worst part any more. Or at least, it wouldn't have been if we could mourn, properly, for the children that were sent to die. No, it was the banners in the street, the day off work -- local law included, with the Peacekeepers moving in to replace them -- the _celebration_ of it that sickened me.  
  
I adjusted my tie, then the collar of my shirt, in the mirror. Bella always talked about my 'showing her up' by not being dressed properly, and today was one of the few days when I couldn't count on my uniform to look at least fairly smart.  
  
"Could you not at least shave the moustache?"  
  
I caught sight of Bella in the mirror as she appeared in the doorway, then turned to face her. "The moustache stays. You... look nice, Bells."  
  
She smoothed down the front of her ruffled blue dress with a frown. It had been her birthday present last fall, cost a lot of money too. But Bella had liked it, and it had been worth it to see her smile for once. Then she shrugged. "It'll do."  
  
She was wearing her best shoes, as well, and the make-up that she only occasionally dabbed on. That wasn't usual for Bella. Now it was my turn to frown as I crossed the room, resting one hand on her shoulder. She half-tried to shrug it off, but I held on. "Bella, you aren't thinking of... doing anything stupid, are you?"  
  
My voice just about held. Bella rolled her eyes. "No, Charlie," she said, in a put-upon tone. "I'm not going to do anything _stupid_."  
  
The tone sounded like her again. "All right, then." I patted her shoulder. "We ought to get going."  
  
  
  
  
  
It wasn't much of a walk down to "Victory" Square. Everyone in the District just called it the Square, after the number of children that we'd seen leave it and never come back. I tried to put my arm around Bella's shoulder and hold her close, but she squirmed away well before we reached the lines and had to part.  
  
"I'll see you soon, Bells," I said.  
  
Bella hesitated for just a moment too long. "Yeah. Love you, Charlie."  
  
Something tightened in my chest. "Bella-" she was gone, though, filtering in with the other young people of the District. I raised my voice. "Bella!"  
  
But she was gone. And I hoped, desperately, that I was wrong.  
  
  
  
  
  
The police had to stand in a certain place, and I was no exception. My feet felt heavy as I made my way round, exchanged nods with Bob Marks, and did my best to look at the stage without flinching.  
  
The seven victors of our District were there, under the be-ribboned white canopy that covered the stage. Waylon Forge, the mayor, was the only resident of the District on-stage with them. I sympathised with how uncomfortable he looked.  
  
"Reckon there'll be a volunteer this year?" muttered Bob. The words sent a shiver down my spine.  
  
"I hope not," I replied. It didn't matter if volunteers had a better rate of survival, a better chance of going back to their districts.  
  
There must have been something in my voice that caught his attention, and he turned towards me. Before he got a word out, however, the anthem started to play and we all muttered beneath our breaths so that we wouldn't get caught not singing along.  
  
As the music faded, Alice Cullen -- the middle of the victors -- pranced forward across the stage, almost skipping. She was dressed in Volterra fashions, all short skirt and top plunging down almost to her waist, with her short dark hair spiked out in all directions.  
  
"Hello, residents of District Three!" she trilled into the microphone. My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides. "And here's to a happy, happy Hunger Games!"  
  
One bowl stands on either side of the podium, shiny glass, filled with slips of paper. They could do the draws easily enough by computer now; perhaps it was just theatre.  
  
"Now, starting with the boys..." she dipped her hand into one of the bowls and swirled it around, letting the silence drag in the air. It wasn't hopeful, expectant, like the television always treated it; all around the square, men and women were praying _please not my son, please not him_.

The silence stretched out too long to be comfortable before Alice finally withdrew a slip of paper, unfolded it, and spoke out one name.  
  
"Mike Newton!"  
  
Silence. Painful as always. I'd known Mike since he was a kid, and now I watched as he made his way out from the group of eighteen- to twenty-four year olds that were deemed suitable for the reaping ball. Twenty-eight slips when they they were eighteen, falling over the years. Couldn't have _old_ victors, after all.  
  
Mike was nineteen years old, pale and shaking as he walked up to the stage. Alice went over as if to shake his hand, and he took a step back with a look of disgust. I'd always liked the kid.  
  
"Well, then," said Alice with a brittle cheeriness. "Now for the ladies..."  
  
She hadn't even touched the bowl when a voice rang out. "I volunteer!"  
  
No. I thought that my heart had stopped, grabbed at Bob's shoulder to help stay upright. He caught hold of me with a look of confusion.  
  
"Generally we draw the name, then ask for volunteers," Alice was saying, irritation at the _disorderliness_ of it in her voice, but I was still trying to find it in me to shout out as well. "You know-"  
  
"But I _volunteer_! That's allowed! And I am!"  
  
Because I recognised that voice, even out of the hundreds of young people lined up in the square. Would have known it anywhere.  
  
 _Bella_.


	2. Reaped

"And I am!"  
  
I waved my hand in the air to attract their attention. The crowd parted, people whispering, and I hurried towards the front. Nobody else could volunteer, surely... it was only once every few years that anyone ever did. Usually for a sibling or something. It wasn't even as if they _wanted_ to enter.  
  
Of course it was dangerous. It wasn't like I was stupid or anything, and didn't realise. But the victors....  
  
They took the name Cullen, in District Three. Elsewhere it was different -- Denali in District Ten, directly north of us, for example -- but here all of the victors became Cullens. From Carlisle, the only one from before the Games started over a hundred and sixty years ago now, to the most recent winner from this District, Emmett. All but one were victors, and all were the most beautiful people that I had ever seen. They didn't stand in the light because they shone, glittered like stars; they were moonlight-pale, golden-eyed, and unbearably, heart-rendingly gorgeous.  
  
I had wanted to be a victor for as long as I could remember. Wanted to live with them in their white houses on the edge of town, with the money that they were sent by Volterra, their beautiful clothes and cars, their beautiful _selves_. I'd been desperately waiting to turn eighteen and volunteer to represent my District, and finally the chance had come.  
  
I pushed through the last few people between me and the front of the square, looking up expectantly. Alice Cullen seemed to have turned away, asking something of her family, and then she turned around and gave me a hundred-watt smile.  
  
"Well, come on then!"  
  
Yes. They had accepted me. My heart was still pounding in chest, my breath fast and shallow, but I was going to do it. I was going to be a tribute!  
  
"Bella, don't!"  
  
Oh my god. I froze part way up the stairs, hand on the railing, with my expression shifting to one of horror. Oh, please let this not be happening.  
  
"Please, Bella. Bella!"  
  
There wasn't any avoiding it. I turned to see Charlie being restrained by two of his colleagues as he tried to break out from the police area. This was why I hadn't told him. I knew that he wouldn't understand how much I wanted this, how right this was for me. I was born to be a victor.  
  
"Bella, no... I volunteer!" He shouted suddenly, wildly, and I cringed. Mike Newton looked up in shock, and there were mutters starting in the crowd now. "I volunteer for her!"  
  
But, mercifully, Alice shook her head and pursed her beautiful lips. "Sorry, Mr. Swan. Only under twenty-fives can be tributes, and we have to have one male and one female. That's how this works."  
  
"She's my _daughter_!" There was anger in Charlie's voice now, and I wanted to sink into a hole in the ground and disappear. Or for him to disappear. This was so _embarrassing_. I'd been waiting to turn eighteen and volunteer, I finally got the chance, and he was going to show me up like this? I fought not to cringe as I made my way up the stairs.  
  
"Bella, please, Bella--" I looked round in time to see Charlie break free from one of the men holding him back, but before he could miss the other there was a blur of dark grey.  
  
The Peacekeepers. I huffed a sigh of relief as one of them appeared in front of Charlie and drew him back into the crowd. His cries became muffled, and I supposed that a hand had been clamped over his mouth.  
  
I had worn my best dress today, done my hair and everything, and now all that people were going to see on the television was my father trying to stop me from going. At least it couldn't get worse.  
  
Of course it could. I stumbled on the last step up to the stage, banging my knee on the wood and hissing in pain. Before I had even started to rise, a hand appeared in front of me, and I followed the line of its perfection up the arm to the victor at the other end.

Edward Cullen.  
  
He was one of the more established victors in our District, having won back in the seventy-third games. I had his poster on my wall. He smiled crookedly, and I could swear my heart beat faster just as I took hold of his cold hand and he helped me to my fight.  
  
"It's so good to see volunteers," he said in his silken voice. My legs felt wobbly.  
  
I just about managed to whisper: "Thank you."  
  
"Come on, then!"   
  
Alice danced over to take my hand and pull me back into the middle, so that she stood between myself and Mike. Taking his hand as well, she raised them into the air triumphantly, even if the crowd was quiet. They didn't understand. The Games were punishment for what we had done to vampires, but instead of just killing us all they gave us a chance to actually become one of them instead. I could hardly imagine being so magnaminous.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen," said Alice, "I give you the District Three tributes for the One Hundred and Sixty-First Hunger Games: Mike Newton and Bella Swan!"  
  
People clapped, slowly at first then with increasing vigour, some starting to whoop and cheer. It was elating, finally being onstage. And it was so good of the Peacekeepers to take time off from their roles in the Volturi Guard and come down to encourage everyone to celebrate as well.  
  
I was going to be a victor. Everything was perfect.


End file.
